


Scarf

by foyfoy



Category: Senyuu. (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Creasion!Foyfoy AU, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 02:10:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20399962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foyfoy/pseuds/foyfoy
Summary: Foyfoy is bothered by the way Alba wears his scarf.





	Scarf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heroalba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heroalba/gifts).

> so literally maybe an hour ago my best friend came up with the idea of an AU where ros and foyfoy swap roles and foyfoy is the hero creasion and ros is hero 14. this escalated into a whole AU that he's planning to write for that sweet, sweet foyfoy appreciation content
> 
> me, dumb, gay: but what if i made it foyalba

It’s bothered him since he came back.

Foyfoy sets aside the empty bowl that once held dinner. Ruki’s happily finishing up her portion while Alba mindlessly talks about something that happened the other day if just to fill the silence. There truly isn’t a silence if the gentle crackling of the campfire counts, and Foyfoy’s eyes lid a fraction as he watches the warm glow light up Alba’s face.

It’s good to be back, and yet... his eyes trail down and it takes him biting the inside of his cheek not to laugh. Tied around Alba’s waist clumsily and messily is an all too familiar red fabric. It’s stained with dirt and the color has faded a fraction, but it’s still the same familiar fabric that Foyfoy used to tie around his own waist.

It doesn’t fit Alba at all, at least not styled like that.

As soon as Ruki finishes eating and she retires to the tent, Alba collects their dinnerware and proceeds to the river a few meters off to the left to wash everything. Foyfoy busies himself with making sure the fire will stay lit for the night, but his brain keeps nagging him. He glances over his shoulder; Alba stands from the riverbank to set the clean bowls on a nearby stump, and when he’s almost there his foot catches on the red fabric draping from his waist to the dirt and he trips, almost falling flat on his face and breaking the bowls.

Foyfoy covers his mouth but it doesn’t prevent him from laughing, a mean cackle deep in his chest. He can’t stop it, grinning in mockery when Alba gives him an indignant look. “Nice job, Alba.”

“Hey, don’t laugh at me!” His cheek puff out as he checks to make sure the bowls aren’t cracked. “This scarf of yours is too long, so I can’t help it-“

“You can, actually.” Foyfoy waits for Alba to make eye contact before he continues, chuckling, “That’s _my_ scarf, after all. You could give it back.” He’s already moving, eventually crouching in front of Alba who has now resigned himself to sitting where he fell.

When their eyes meet, Alba turns away. It’s dark over here, the light of the campfire hardly reaching, but Foyfoy thinks he sees a flush of annoyed shame in Alba’s cheeks. “Sorry. It’s just, ah-...“ His voice cuts off, biting his lip. They rarely talk about it, about the time they were separated, the time when the truth came to light, but after a pause Alba looks at him again. “I missed you. I wanted to give it back to you once I found you, but then I did find you, and I forgot because I was happy I found you, and you never asked for it back.” He’s rambling, running his sentence and explanation on longer than needed. His hands fidget in his lap, rubbing the red material between the pads of his fingers.

It’s a habit he picked up in their time apart, a stimulation meant to calm his nerves and remind him of what Foyfoy taught him. Foyfoy thinks it’s cute, but he doesn’t say it.

“Okay, fair enough.” Foyfoy pushes on his knees with his hands, standing back up before offering help to Alba. After a blink and brief hesitation, Alba takes his hand and heaves himself up as well. As soon as his balance is steady, Foyfoy drops the connection and instead reaches towards Alba’s waist, untying the scarf. “Now I’m asking for it back, so...” He smiles and holds it up as if to present that yes, he just took it without waiting for any response.

Alba doesn’t protest, just nods and offers a half-smile. “Sorry, I didn’t know you wanted it back so badly.”

“Gods, you could have washed it before giving it back to me too,” Foyfoy sighs dramatically as he rubs at a dirt stain in it. His lips purse when it doesn’t come out, but he moves on quickly. He didn’t take it to complain about its status. “Alba, close your eyes.”

“I don’t trust that! Last time you told me to do that, you-“

“That was last time, Alba. C’mon,” he prompts again, and with a hefty sigh Alba closes his eyes with a grumble about not wanting to be pranked again.

Foyfoy doesn’t move for a few seconds, and instead studies Alba’s face. He looks older, more worn down. Mature, even. He’s been through too much for his age, too much for his capacity to empathize. His heroism complex. Foyfoy can’t help but smile, eyes softening as he bundles the red scarf in his hands.

More than a few seconds start to tick by, and Alba huffs. “You better not be doing something to hurt or scare me.”

That snaps Foyfoy out of his _absolutely not a lovestruck_ daze. Coughing into the back of his hand, willing the burning feeling at the tips of his cheekbones to subside, Foyfoy reaches forward and wraps the scarf around Alba’s neck. The movement startles Alba into opening his eyes, and while he couldn’t tell for certain Foyfoy swears he picks up on Alba’s heart skipping. Why-?

Oh. Foyfoy glances to the right, staring at a spot over Alba’s shoulder as he hurriedly secures the scarf around Alba’s neck. His hands shake just a fraction as he finishes, and he steps back an amount more than casually passable as he clears his throat again. “There.”

Alba’s hands trace the scarf, his cheeks matching it as he examines Foyfoy’s handiwork as best he can without a mirror. “If you wanted it back, why did you put it back on me?” He looks up and tries to meet Foyfoy’s averted gaze, but his soldier is a stubborn one and he turns his back on him the second their eyes meet.

Louder than necessary, and voice clearly jittery from nerves, Foyfoy says, “That fits you better! You don’t look as cool as I do wearing it around your waist.” He scratches at the bridge of his nose, catching the scar tissue in an attempt to relax his nerves. Once he’s certain he won’t die, he looks back over his shoulder with a grin more confident than he feels. “At least, I think you look good like that,” he pauses for a second, grin melting to a smile as he notices a similar one on Alba’s face, “... Hero.”

Immediately feeling the embarrassment at using the old nickname rise in his chest, Foyfoy turns back around and stumbles over his feet walking back towards the camp. He doesn’t take more than five steps before he hears Alba laugh, a sound sweeter than music, and then his voice rises to say, “Thank you, Soldier.”

Yeah, it bothered him to come back to, but now Foyfoy realizes he just gave himself something completely new to be bothered by.


End file.
